Chapter 188 Slander

Chapter 188 Slander

Sophia's POV

I paused for a moment, took the gift box, and opened it.

Resting on a black velvet cushion was a priceless pink diamond tiara. The cut of the center stone was flawless, scattering a breathtaking brilliance in the morning light. I recognized it immediately — this was the limited-edition haute couture piece FL had unveiled not long ago, its value beyond any reasonable estimate.

I ran my fingertips lightly over the cool diamonds, and something almost too faint to notice softened in my eyes. This brother of mine in name only — we hadn't even formally met — but this gift said everything. Pure Spencer family instinct: protect your own, no questions asked.

"Please pass along my thanks to Joseph." I closed the box and handed it back to the butler. "Put it in my room for now."

I hesitated, then let my tone ease a little. "I'll be home early tonight. Let's all have dinner together — Joseph, Mom, and Dad."

The butler's face lit up immediately. He nodded eagerly. "Of course, Miss. I'll go let Mr. and Mrs. Spencer know right away. Master Joseph will be so pleased to hear it."

I gave a small nod, turned, and walked out the front door.

8 a.m. The Starlight Convention Center, downtown.

The Global Emerging Jewelry Designer Competition was opening here today — a prestigious event held once every three years. The venue was packed inside and out, swarming with top young designers and press from around the world.

I had a black baseball cap pulled low over my face and a designer's assistant badge hanging from my neck, quietly trailing behind Lisa. I kept myself as invisible as possible, but even so, my posture and the cool edge I couldn't quite hide still drew more than a few sideways glances.

Lisa drew a slow breath, her palm damp around the competition number in her hand. She'd done her best to prepare herself mentally, but standing inside this place — a venue that represented the highest honor in the design world — the nerves hit anyway. She turned to look at me, instinctively reaching for something to steady herself.

Her eyes caught on something and stopped.

Just below my pushed-up sleeve, a strip of white medical gauze was visible. Along the edge, a faint trace of red seeped through.

Lisa's eyes stung.

"Miss Spencer..." She lowered her voice, reaching toward my arm with barely concealed distress. "Your hand... let me rewrap it for you. What if it gets infected?"

I turned my wrist and stepped around her touch without making a thing of it.

"It's fine." I tugged my sleeve down to cover the bandage and kept my gaze fixed on the main stage ahead, my voice steady and even. "Just a small cut. Nothing to worry about."

I glanced over at her, my eyes sharp and direct — the kind of look that didn't leave room for argument.

"Stay focused. Today is about you." I tipped my chin toward the stage. "Go get first place."

Lisa pressed her lips together, pushed every bit of worry and feeling down deep, and gave a firm nod.

"All competing designers and assistants, please proceed to your designated areas and take your positions."

The emcee's voice rang out over the speakers. The competition had begun.

We cleared security with our badges and made our way into the competitors-only lounge.

The space was bright and open, filled with young faces from all over the world. The energy was tense and buzzing — some people were going over their design sketches one last time, others were checking their tools with their assistants. The air had that particular charge that comes right before something big.

Lisa found a spot near a corner, sat down, took a breath, and started going through her kit — laying out brushes and rulers one by one, making sure everything was in order.

I pulled up a chair beside her and settled in, unhurried. Hat brim low, most of my face in shadow, just the clean line of my jaw visible. Still enough that I barely seemed to be there — and yet somehow impossible to ignore.

"Well, look who it is. Lisa, the company's little errand girl."

A sharp, cutting voice sliced through the quiet corner.

Lisa's hands went still. She looked up.

The woman standing over her was dressed in an over-the-top sequined blazer and ten-centimeter heels, her face caked in heavy makeup, her contempt on full display. Arms crossed, looking down at Lisa with a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

Lisa's brow tightened instantly.

"What's this — the bar for this competition has dropped so low now that just anyone can walk in off the street?" Judy let her gaze drag slowly over Lisa's plain outfit, then let out a short, derisive laugh. "Don't tell me you're here to apply for the cleaning crew."

Lisa's grip tightened on her brush, her knuckles going pale. Once, she might have ducked her head and let it go. But not now. Now she had me behind her. She had the whole Spencer Group behind her.

"Judy, this competition runs on talent — not volume." Lisa held her ground, meeting Judy's eyes without flinching. "You can't even finish a clean structural drawing. Makes me wonder — did you pull the same move you always do? Buy someone else's spot to get in here?"

That landed. Judy's expression cracked.

"What are you talking about?!" Her voice shot up. She raised her hand toward Lisa's face. "You need to learn some respect—"

Her hand had barely left her side when a gaze like a blade cut straight across the room.

I lifted my head. Beneath the cap, my eyes were flat and cold — not a trace of warmth in them. I didn't speak. I didn't move. But something in the air around me shifted, and Judy felt it hit her like a physical thing, a chill running straight through her.

Her raised hand froze.

She stared at me — this woman in a baseball cap with an assistant's badge — and felt, for no reason she could name, a wave of genuine fear.

Who is this? She's just an assistant. Why does she look at people like that?

Judy slowly lowered her hand, smoothed the front of her jacket to save face, and gave a stiff little scoff. "Who said anything about competing? I'm just here with someone. A competition at this level? I left this behind a long time ago."

She grabbed the arm of a nervous young girl standing behind her — the girl was clutching a stack of drawing boards, head down, barely breathing.

I was already tired of the noise.

I tapped the armrest once with the tip of my finger. My voice came out quiet and cool, but it cut exactly where it needed to.

"The draft Kathy sold you for last year's Vogue Group Cup — the one with your name on it. Should I go ahead and submit the wire transfer record and the IP address to the organizing committee?"